


Fanfic Fanatics

by orphan_account



Category: The Beatles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 07:20:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5699839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Paul and Ringo found fanfiction. Basically :) enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fanfic Fanatics

**Author's Note:**

> The Beatles are my loves, not my property. 
> 
> And RIP David Bowie - an influential musician and an amazing, amazing man. You will be sorely missed <3   
> 8th January 1947-11th January 2016 :'( x

Ring-ring.

Ring-ring.

Ring-ring.

Ring-ring.

Ring-ri- 'Hello?'

Ringo Starr frowned into the telephone, pressing the handset further into his mouth and the ear-piece closer to his ear with his left hand, and tapping out a rhythm on his thigh with his right, waiting for the answer from the unknown caller.

'Hi Rings.'

A smile. Ringo knew that voice anywhere. 'Paul?'

Someone chuckled down the receiver, making Ringo smile even more. 'Hello.'

'And to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure, Mr McCartney?'

'It's Sir to you, you little scruff. Mind you remember that.'

It was Ringo's turn to laugh now, and he did so, making the other do the same, the happy noise travelling up the phone, and Ringo realised he hadn't heard that laugh in such, such a long time. He had missed it. 'Why not just make it /Lord/ Paul? Lord Macca, how's that sound?'

The man on the other side laughed harder, and Ringo felt a little bubble of some odd emotion begin to rise in him; he'd missed this, spending time to talk to his best friends in the world, and now that two of them were dead, it made it even more vital that the two remaining did so as much as they possibly could, in the remaining span that awaited, because soon, there would just be one. Actually, if he was being completely honest, Ringo was half-hoping that it'd be him to go first. He couldn't bear it if he was the last man standing, as it were.

'Ringo?' The brief realisation that the other was talking made him start.

'Sorry, what?'

Paul laughed. 'Reminiscing?'

A small sigh. 'A bit. Sorry. What did you say?'

There was a brief intake of breath down the receiver before the other man spoke. 'Oh, I was just wondering if you were up to anything today, or if you wanted to come up. I've got something to show you.'

Ringo smiled. 'How could I turn down an offer like that?'

A chuckle. 'I /am/ Paul McCartney, after all.'

'God, there's one thing I haven't missed. Your ego.'

Another laugh. /Another/ one. 'See you at mine, Ringo.'

'See ya.'

And Ringo hung up, smiling to himself. He'd almost forgotten how jolly Paul could be, if he wasn't working on the music, or in one of those stupid interviews. He'd missed that too. So many things.

Once he'd donned a coat and hat, the door opened and Ringo was on his way. Hailing a taxi, and coughing out the address to Paul's house in some odd accent so the driver wouldn't recognise him, he tried to ignore the waves of nostalgia that threatened to engulf him, instead remembering the hilarious dry wit of John Lennon's sarcastic remarks, and the rare but beautiful smile that occasionally wiped George's face clear of a pensive frown and the giggles and childish jokes that Paul used to come out with. He tried to remember all the good times they'd had without being sad about it, about anything, just thankful that they had such a backlog of memories they could share and cherish and reminisce about, and such a long journey of laughs and sights and amazing experiences that they could recollect, and soon he was being dropped off at Paul's with a smile on his face and happiness nestling somewhere in the pit of his heart as he rang the doorbell and embraced the man who answered.

'Hey Ringsy.'

'Paul.'

And they entered.

'So, what did you want to show me?'

Ringo could have sworn he saw Paul blush before he answered. 'Come on then. I just thought you'd be interested.'

A nod.

He followed Paul into a room adjacent from the hallway, where there was a computer and a couple of chairs surrounding it, and supressed his initial confusion that his friend had brought him here to show him a /laptop/, of all things. He turned his head slightly to look at the aforementioned bassist, who now had a very knowing smile fixed on his scarily-mischievous face and followed him to the computer. 'I could have actually emailed this to you Ringo.' 

Ringo blinked. 'Emailed me …'

'The link.'

Oh. Not the computer then. Something on it. 'Why didn't you?'

Paul laughed. 'I thought you might need some … emotional support. Bailey showed it to me. Granddaughter.' He added, noticing Ringo's puzzlement at the name, and smiling a bit more. 'One of her friends told her about it at school.'

Ringo nodded, and sat on one of the chairs by the computer, now utterly bewildered at what Paul had brought him there to show. He watched as the man's hands skittered across the keyboard, and the words in the search bar formed the phrase /beatles fanfic/, the grin produced slightly guilty and the blush now in his cheeks completely obvious, as the cursor clicked the first link which appeared and a whole webpage sprung up in a second.

There was a stunned silence as Paul bit his lips and Ringo just stared. It was all he could do. Stare. God. He blinked.

Of course Ringo knew the fans in the old days were crazy, but that was fine, back then. They had been the best bloody band in the whole world, for god's sakes. But that had changed, and those times were gone, and people, people these days were more obsessed with the modern pop phenomenon of bands like One Direction and … and others, not them. Not the /Beatles/. Not … not Ringo's band. Not Paul's. Not John's or George's, not a band from the 60's. And even if they were … well. Ringo didn't think anyone even from the peak of their career wrote stuff like that. He turned to look at Paul who was smiling goofily at him and blinked again, questioning the smile but returning it at the same time. 'Paul, what…'

Paul grinned. 'It's called /fanfiction/.'

'Fanfiction?' Ringo tried to keep his voice from pipping up at the end of his question but it did anyway and he cursed it inwardly. 'Fanfiction.'

'Yeah. And look.' Paul clicked on one of the blue links, laughing, laughing, always laughing, and smiling gleefully as another page popped up. 'They're stories. 'Bout us. Like here.' He gestured to the words on the screen. 'And some of them are pairing us, all of us, like there's lots of me and John and you and George, but there's me and George and you and John, and there's me and you and Ringo, look! Look at it!'

Ringo laughed at Paul's excitement, watching the joy spread across his face, and feeling his own kindle inside him, through the utter amazement at the weird website Paul's granddaughter had discovered.

'This one's good Ritchie. It's like us, isn't it? Ringo?'

Ringo nodded, beginning the read the … the document, he supposed, because what else could it be? The fic, perhaps. A laugh began to spill out his mouth as the dialogue kicked in.

'Anyroad? We don't … Paul, when have we ever said anyroad?'

Paul smiled. 'You're a quick reader, you are. I haven't even got to there yet. Wait up.'

Ringo frowned.

'Oh.' A chuckle. 'Anyroad. We've said that before, once or twice.' Upon seeing Ringo's sceptical face, however, he backpedalled. 'Anyway, it adds atmosphere.'

Ringo laughed. 'Don't you mean any/road/, Paul? Any/road/, it adds atmosphere.'

A grin. 'Yeah.'

And they continued to read.

oOo

Ringo had almost forgotten where he was by the time they reached page 40 of 40 on the site, and their sides hurt from the laughing so much. They had shed tears too, tears mourning their late friends, tears recalling the old times, the /best/ times, but mostly it had been laughs, and disbelief that people would write such amazing pieces of work about them, that people still liked them. There was some pretty odd stuff on there, Ringo accepted, but odd was good, and it was nice to see inside fans' heads, nice to see what the fans thought they got up to, what the fans fantasies were like, and how they played into reality. Ringo wasn't sure why he had enjoyed it so much but he had, and anyway, who wouldn't enjoy laughing at Paul's face when he read in the countless fics that he really /was/ a charming egotist, and that the fans could see right through that butter-couldn't-melt-in-my-mouth visage and that everyone knew his tactics, but everyone loved him anyway. And suddenly, Ringo found himself saying anyroad. They'd counted 50 times in one document. /50/. That was excessive, in any case. But he did agree when Paul said it was atmospheric. And it was also funny. Very, very funny.

At some point in the evening they had agreed to make an account. Ringo didn't know how many drinks they'd had but it was enough to make them still sober but a bit spaced out, so they made an account, called it ringopaul42, and began typing up a story. It was crap, but it made them laugh, featuring a proper day in the life of a Beatle, and they enjoyed writing it, posting it, sending it out to the public. And now, as Ringo sat at home, by the computer, reading the reviews that stacked up down the side, he couldn't help but supress a smile at how funny his predicament was. Hell, he was a famous musician, writing and posting little drabbles (yes drabbles. He knew things like this now) online for obsessive fans to read and critique. Like there was one, one which posted: /cute, but I don't think that would happen. You should write more tho xD/. Ringo just laughed.

He laughed.

God. What had his life come to?

But still he laughed. And began to type up another one.

THE END


End file.
